


Hiding in plain sight

by Miles_McKay



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Angst, Angst and Romance, Angst and Tragedy, Anxiety, Best Friends, Character Death, Declarations Of Love, Depression, Doctor John Watson, Drama & Romance, Falling In Love, Friendship, Friendship/Love, Heavy Angst, Love, Love Confessions, M/M, One-Sided Attraction, One-Sided Sherlock Holmes/John Watson, POV John Watson, Pining, Pining John Watson, Romance, Sherlock Holmes & John Watson Friendship, Tragedy, Tragic Romance, Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-11
Updated: 2020-04-11
Packaged: 2021-03-01 20:54:17
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,935
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23593414
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Miles_McKay/pseuds/Miles_McKay
Summary: Beta: @BeesandWatsons
Relationships: Sherlock Holmes & John Watson
Comments: 1
Kudos: 4





	Hiding in plain sight

**Author's Note:**

> Beta: @BeesandWatsons

It was a Thursday morning, and Watson was wandering for the streets of London, easing his mind off things, when he bumped into an old mate of his, Mike Stamford. He reluctantly agreed to cofee and allowed himself to catch up with him after all the years he had been away, working in the Army.  
After some awkward chit-chat, the topic of his return to London was brought up and he felt uncomfortable at the sole mention of it. "I got shot. I've came back, they gave me a medal which I don't really care for, now I live in a shitty flat on an Army pension. Can't really afford anything else."  
Mike turned his entire body towards him on the bench they were sitting on, and looked at him slightly smiling: "Come with me".

  
John found himself at his old hospital, St. Barts. He limped through the door of the lab to find a rather good-looking man bent over a microscope.  
"Good morning. Stamford has informed me that you are looking for a flatmate" said the man, not looking up from whatever there was under the lens of the microscope. John was slightly confused.  
"Uhm, no he didn't, he was with me the whole time since I've told him, so he couldn't have informed you of anything" he said, after gaining his composure.  
"You're right, he didn't tell me, but I knew anyway", the man said, this time actually looking up and straight into his eyes. "Just as I know that you just came back from an Army tour in which you were shot... in the shoulder" the man said, eyeing the doctor's walking cane with a sly smile, "meaning your limp is psychosomatic, or at least that's what your therapist thinks".  
John looked quite shocked as he struggled to let any coherent words out of his mouth.  
"So are you looking for a flatmate or not?" said the strange man after a few seconds of awkward silence.  
"I do, indeed. London is too much for me, can't afford it alone." replied the doctor, not really sure of what was going on.  
"Well, Doctor Watson, I happen to be looking for a flatmate too". The man got up and headed to the door, he took his coat and as he was leaving the room he announced: "the name is Sherlock Holmes and the address is 221b Baker Street. Afternoon!" closing the door behind him.  
Watson hadn't really had any chance to reply but it's not like there was much to say to that.

  
It was night and John Watson was laying in bed, thinking about how things with Holmes had escalated rather quickly.  
Mike had told him a bit more about the man. He had told him he was a detective that sometimes worked for Scotland Yard, and that he was quite good at deducing people, even though because of that, the majority of time he ended up with a black eye or worse.  
He imagined living with him wouldn't be any easier.  
However, a small part of him was curious to know how life could have been if shared with the brilliant detective, and he was surprisingly looking forward to meeting with him again, tomorrow.

The next morning, he went to work like any other day since he'd been back in London: he couldn't practice surgery anymore, but he had found a nice spot at a local clinic as a GP.   
After his shift, he didn't stop to go home and maybe freshen up a bit.  
Instead, he headed directly to the address Sherlock Holmes had given him: 221b Baker Street. He hailed a cab, finding it less miserable than the tube and when he arrived he found him already waiting by the door, so he approched him, cleary insecure.  
"Good afternoon Dr. Watson." the man said, as soon as he became aware of the doctor's presence.  
"Please, just John." They shook hands and the detective entered the house, followed by the good doctor.  
The landlady was very nice in John's opinion, a very sweet and lovely lady. Mrs. Hudson was her name. She showed them the flat and John was taken by surprise when he noticed Sherlock had in fact already moved in.   
He really liked the place and, despite a part of him was thinking it was crazy, he was really considering moving in.  
He sat on the red chair next to the fireplace, feeling the material with his hands, and he thought: 'this could actually work'.  
Just as he was about to put into words the amount of contentment he was experiencing, a tall grey-haired man with a long black coat entered the flat.  
"Sherlock there's been another one. Come on, we need you." he spoke, probably not noticing John's presence. As soon as he became aware though, he apologised and introduced himself. "D.I. Greg Lestrade, very nice to meet you." he said quite hurryingly.  
"John Watson, likewise." they rapidly shook hands and Lestrade headed out, expecting Sherlock to follow him. The detective in fact was putting on his coat and scarf and, before going out, he turned to John, gave him a thoughtful look, squinting his eyes almost imperceptibly. "Would you perhaps like to come along? Those idiots could use a second professional opinion. You must have seen all sorts of things back in Afghanistan. Wanna see some more?" said the detective, hoping he'd answer positively.  
John thought about it, but the adrenaline was too much.  
"God yes." He replied in excitement, not really sure to what exactly he was agreeing to, but very impatient to show off his incredible medical skills in front of the genius that was Sherlock Holmes.

  
That same night, after the case, they had dinner at a local restaurant called Angelo's.  
Sherlock seemed to know the owner, which let them leave without paying. "On the house for you and your date, Sherlock" he had said, to which John had replied with "I'm not his date", even though maybe he subconsciously wanted to be.  
He had asked the man about his 'preferences' over dinner, convincing himself it was just out of curiosity and not interest. Surprisingly enough, the detective had thought he was coming onto him.  
"Women are not really my area" he had said, and although he didn't say he was gay, he didn't deny it either. John assumed the man was probably asexual and decided to not bring the topic up again.

__________________________

  
After a few weeks of living together, John realised he was becoming closer to the detective.  
He felt like his skin was burning anytime their hands brushed casually when they were walking alongside each other, his cheeks were blushing everytime the detective gave him a fond look whenever the doctor complimented his amazing abilities.  
He wanted to sit closer to him inside cabs, and he wanted to tell him how amazing he looked in the streetlights' shadows.   
But John was not gay.   
He had never been, he would never be.  
Although he had to admit this had been bothering him for a while, since that first night at Angelo’s in fact: without realising it, he had asked Sherlock out, but he instantely regretted it and covered his tracks.  
Now though, he couldn't deny he felt something. He wasn't really sure what that something was, but he really couldn't avoid this any longer.  
He decided to call his sister and ask for advice.  
He didn't call her much, just during the holidays or in case of emergency. He thought he might as well call her and ask for her help, due to her personal experience in the subject. He dialed the number and anxiously waited for a response, until he heard the overly excited voice of his sister on the other end of the line.  
"Hello little brother, how are you doing? I suppose something bad must have happened, you wouldn't have called otherwise".  
"Hello Harry, I'm good thanks. And nothing bad happened, I just figured that maybe you could help with a little something I have been struggling with lately."   
"Oh sure, why not. What's wrong?"  
"Well, you see, I met this man a few weeks ago and I think now I might be feeling... something for him, but I mean, that can't be, I'm not gay, I definitely like women."   
"Oh John, darling, you're such a mess. It is okay to explore your sexuality, and you know, you don’t have to be exclusively attracted to men, or women. You can be attracted to both, neither, it really is a normal and natural thing to explore even the most unexpected possibilities."   
"Yeah but I am not attracted to men, I am attracted to Sherlock Holmes, and women of course. I had never thought about a man this way before."   
"Well it's okay, you shouldn’t really think about all these things. You should let yourself have a bit of fun and experience new things, that's the only way you'll figure things out. Okay?"  
"Yeah. Also... I forgot to mention, we've been living together for a few weeks."   
"... You have to be kidding me. John, I swear to god..."   
"Hahaha. No it's not what it seems. He knew I was looking for a flatmate so he asked me... well, he *told* me we could share a flat together and that was it. I do realise that was fast, but there's nothing between us, I barely know him. And even though I'm quite sure he knows how I feel about him, I still don't think it's mutual. Also, I think it would be a bit too soon, I just met him."   
"Well, it wasn't too soon to get a flat together."   
"That... that's different. I barely had any saying over that. Anyways, I don't really know what to do. And I'm pretty sure he knows. He knows everything, he's the most brilliant detective I've ever met and he knows bloody everything, he even knew about you."   
"Oh really, what did he say?"  
"Not very nice things actually, but I guess he was just trying to show off."   
"And it appears he has done a good job impressing you."   
"Yeah well fuck off."   
"Alright darling, you should really get things... straight. Aren't you happy your sister has such a sense of humor?"   
"You're not funny you know. Bye Harry, thanks."   
"Goodbye, you dumb creature."  
Watson hung up the phone and put it on his bedside table, drifting off to a deep but troubled sleep, while the thoughts of Sherlock Holmes flooded his mind.  
The next day he went to the clinic and had a bit of trouble concentrating, due to the multitude of thoughts that were keeping his mind occupied.

________________________

  
It had been almost three months and a half since John and Sherlock had moved to 221b and had started solving cases together from time to time. John would still go to the clinic of course, it was his job afterall, and then he would occasionaly help his rather annoying but brilliant flatmate catching murderers.  
He had been able to control his feelings towards him, although he had found it very difficult and it was becoming even harder as days went by. They had become best friends and Sherlock was very attached to John, in a way that he would never think was possible. They spent most of their time together and people often assumed they were a couple, but John seemed to find the assumption quite offensive as he declared himself 'not gay' to the whole world, so he would always correct people. Despite the public seeing them as a couple, John was sure Sherlock wasn't a tad bit interesed in a relationship of that nature, in fact he had stated in many occasions that he was married to his work.  
One late afternoon, John was sitting in his red chair, reading the newspaper and sipping tea when Sherlock appeared from nowhere and called his name.  
"John. I have news."   
"What."   
"You won't like it. In fact, I would gladly avoid it if I could but it's work, it comes before anything else."   
"I'm listening."   
"I need to go away. I don't know for how long exactly but I know I won't be back soon."   
John didn't say anything for a short while as he was still trying to process what Sherlock had just said to him, then he finally spoke.   
"What, what do you mean away? Where are you going? Why?"   
"It's for a case John. They require my help. I'll have to move there, I don't know how many years I'll be staying. It all depends on how much they need me and how good I am at helping. As much as you think this doesn't bother me, I'd like to inform you it does. You're my best friend John. But I know you can be quite emotional at times, even if you don't let it show, so I figured you would be devasted by such bad news. And I'm sorry to do this to you but I have no other alternative."   
John could hear his heartbeat resonating throughout his whole body. He didn't want to believe what Sherlock was telling him, but again, he knew the detective wouldn't have any interest in lying to him about such a delicate subject. He felt tears starting to form in his eyes but managed to keep them under control, he didn't like when people saw him crying. They both stayed silent for a while until John found the strength to talk again.   
"Whe- when will you leave?"   
"Just need time to get my things and I'll be on the first flight to Galway"  
"Galway? You're going to bloody Ireland? I can't fucking believe this!"  
"John calm down. I told you it's important, it's work. I really do consider your reaction to be a bit exaggerated".  
John didn't reply, instead he went to his room and changed into his pajamas, thinking that maybe it was for the best. Maybe not seeing Sherlock so often would make it easier for him. Maybe he would forget how much he was into him and he could just be his friend without having to worry about being utterly in love with the man. 

__________________________

  
The next day John woke up and felt relatively miserable and unhappy. He went to the kitchen and put on the kettle then entered the sitting room and gave a look around to get a glance of Sherlock, expecting him to be awake already.  
He started to panic when he couldn't place him anywhere, he afraid the man had left without saying goodbye, completely desrespecting John's decision to take a day off from work to personally accompany him to the airport.  
Then he saw a figure laying on the couch and sighed in relief. Sherlock had once again fallen asleep on the couch, probably not thinking he would even be able to fall asleep.  
He decided not to wake him up and just went on with his morning routine, mentally preparing himself for what he thought would be one of the saddest and hardest moments of his life.   
When they were both ready to go, they hailed a cab and stayed silent for the whole ride to the airport. The lack of communication from his best friend and collegue didn't bother him, nor preoccupy him. He wasn't really in the mood to talk either.  
Before he knew it they were at the airport and he was left to pay the cabbie while the detective got out and retrieved his bag from the boot.  
They walked in together and, although John had managed to be fairly composed this whole time, he felt like he was about to break down when the time to say goodbye came  
He fought the tears that were threatening to come out; not even in such a place, where people were always crying, either of joy or sadness, he would allow himself to appear so weak in front of the man he secretly loved and was, on top of that, his best friend.  
John considered declaring his love to Sherlock just for a second, but he knew that if he did, he would ruin their relationship as friends and things would never be the same again between them; besides John knew Sherlock didn't feel the same way, as he had repeatedly reminded everyone in several occasions that he was fully dedicated to his work and it was his only true interest in life.   
They shook hands. "Goodbye Sherlock" said John still holding the man's hand in a firm handshake. "Goodbye John." Their hands fell to their sides and they looked at each other for a moment before John turned his back to his flatmate and began walking away.  
John couldn't possibly stand the sight of Sherlock walking away. He knew he would have cried so he kept walking, repeating to himself to not turn around, as he headed out the airport.

  
On the ride home John felt a familiar feeling. The last time he had felt this way was when he had just came back from the war after getting shot and didn't really know what to do with his life. He arrived at the flat and sat on the couch watching the telly, but nothing could take his mind off the memory of Sherlock shaking his hand for the last time.

_________________________

A few months went by. John was trying to fight his demons. He never really struggled with his sexuality, he knew he liked women, very much; but since he had met Sherlock and bonded with him he couldn't get him out of his head.  
He began questioning himself: maybe he wasn't so straight after all, maybe he was bisexual; but at the end of the day he didn't really care about labels, all he cared about was Sherlock Holmes, because he did in fact love him, and the thought scared him quite a lot, especially since the man had been very clear about being married to his work, and despite him knowing how John felt he still wasn't interested in having a romantic relationship with the doctor.   
John was depressed, he didn't need a psychiatrist to tell him that, he knew he had been since the day he fell in love with Sherlock Holmes and realised he would never have a chance with him.  
On the day he had met him, his guts told him that he had better not see the man again or else things would have ended quite badly, and well, he was right. He made the biggest mistake of his life: he became friends with him, and as much as he hated himself for seeing the man again on that Thursday, he was also really glad he had.  
He couldn't think of his life without him and he knew it was better to have someone close to him rather than being completely alone, even if that someone didn't reciprocate his feelings. That was something John still had to get over.  
Now that Sherlock lived thousands of miles away from him, he suffered more than anything. He texted him every day, multiple times a day, talked to him for hours, and that was definitely his favorite part of the day. John would find himself crying at night, thinking that maybe it was best that Sherlock lived so far away, that he should stop texting him and never talk to him again, but that would just make him cry even more, because he knew it would just hurt him more.  
Now it was too late, Sherlock Holmes was a part of his life and he couldn't just get rid of him like nothing ever happened, but he was deeply in love with him and the man knew but didn't show any interest in him whatsoever.  
However, John never actually confessed his love for Sherlock, not openly, and sometimes he would record himself declaring his love to him without actually ever sending it. 

"Sherlock, we've known each other for a few months now, but it certainly feels like I've known you forever. I know that you probably are aware of this already, but I never actually said it, so I just needed to do this, for myself mostly.  
I know you don't care about love, you don't believe in it, 'sentiment is a chemical defect found in the losing side' as you say, but I can't repress my feelings for you. I've tried to ignore them but you are constantly on my mind and you have taken a big space in my life.   
Sherlock Holmes, I am deeply and utterly in love with you, always have been. Since the day I realised that you were the one I wanted to be with I have never being able to find a moment of peace, because I am aware that you will never feel the same way.   
Now that you live so far away I have been struggling to keep my mind off you.   
I wish you were here so I could hold you tight and never let go.   
I wish you were here so I could take you out to dinner and have Angelo put that damn candle on the table.   
I wish you were here so I could kiss those perfect lips of yours.   
I wish you were here so I could surprise you with flowers and chocolates for Valentine's day.   
I wish you were here so I could hug you on the couch while we watch crap telly.   
I wish you were here so I could drink tea with you on a sunday evening.   
I wish you were here so we could chase murderers on the streets of London.   
I wish you were here so we could take long walks at the park while we hold hands.   
I wish you were here so I could make love to you.   
Sherlock I know love it's not all roses, there's bad things as well, but I want it all, the whole deal. I want the fights, the pain, the crying and all that comes with it.   
Love is such a mysterious feeling to me, and I know it doesn't last forever but, right now, right now Sherlock I am in love with you, you are one of the most gorgeous and amazing human beings I've ever met and I am in love with you, there's nothing I can do about it.   
Sherlock Holmes I know you don't believe in love, and that you don't give a shit about relationships; but I love you, I do, with all my heart, and that's never gonna change so I figured that since we are friends, you should at least know, and not from one of your deductions, but from me, personally."

He hit 'delete' and came back to his boring and depressing life without Sherlock, tears were flowing down his cheeks, not knowing how much longer he could last with so much pain within him.

__________________________

  
The sun had just risen and John couldn't find the strength to get up. His depression had become unbearable, he had found the will power to go back to his therapist, under suggestion of Mrs. Hudson. He got diagnosed with severe cases of anxiety and depression so he had been prescribed some antidepressants that he had been taking for a few weeks. The effects should have had kicked in by then but he didn't feel any different.  
That morning, especially, he was feeling like shit and just couldn't get himself out of bed. He knew he had to go to work but he called in sick. That night he had dreamt of Sherlock.

_John had been anxious the whole time on the plane, he was really going to do this, he was really going to tell Sherlock how much he loved him, how much he meant to him._  
_As the plane landed, John could feel himself getting more and more anxious._  
_He had asked Lestrade for a favour and got Sherlock's precise location. He didn't want him to know he was going to visit him. Somehow him not knowing gave John the illusion of being the one in control of the situation, even if he obviously wasn't._  
_In a matter of hours he was standing in front of Sherlock’s door, finding himself incapable of doing anything. Finally, he found the courage and knocked. The detective opened the door, truly suprised to see his flatmate standing before him._  
_"John" he said with his deep, flat voice._  
_"Hello Sherlock" he managed to answer in a calm tone, although his heart was nearly about to stop beating. Sherlock moved to the side to let him in and prepared some nice tea for the both of them to enjoy while they talked._  
_"I came here because there's something I should tell you. I've meant to say always, and I never have. I believe you already know but I couldn't take any chances."_  
_Sherlock looked at John as to tell him to go on._  
_"Sherlock I... I love you. I have known I had feelings for you since the day I met you, but only afterwards I realised I was deeply in love with you. But then it was too late to let you go so I just ignored my feelings and shoved them deep inside me. I love you Sherlock Holmes, and I know you probably don't love me back because of all the 'I'm married to my work' thing, but I couldn't stand not telling you. So here I am, saying that I love you Sherlock, more than anything."_  
_They were staring deep into each other's eyes, their cups forgotten on the table in front of the couch they were sat on._  
_Sherlock sighed and shook his head from side to side slowly, he then shifted closer to John, cupped his face with both his hands and looked at him even more deeply than before, almost stripping him of all the layers John had built to protect himself from rejection. He closed the distance between their faces in a slow and sweet kiss. Then he slightly moved his head up so their foreheads were touching._  
_"You are an idiot John Watson. I love you too."_  
_At this point John couldn't really hold back the tears anymore, and a few low sobs escaped his mouth. He couldn't believe this was actually happening. He smiled and kissed Sherlock again. This time it was more passionate and it lasted a bit longer._  
_They spent the rest of the evening making out on the couch, eventually bringing it to the bedroom were they stripped and laid there naked for hours, cuddling, skin against skin; the same skin that John had longed to touch so badly all this time._  
_John couldn't believe this, he felt like he was the happiest and luckiest man on earth and didn't want this moment to end._

  
But John eventually woke up. He knew it was just a dream that would never become true.  
When he woke up he felt like he had the weight of the world on his shoulders; with all he had gone through in his life, all the bad things he survived, he didn't think such a silly thing like love could bring him down like this.  
He surely had underestimated the power of love. He felt like the universe was having a joke on him, making him survive the bloody war for then being consumed by love like this.  
He somehow managed to get up and take a shower, put on some clean clothes and throw the dirty and stinky ones he had been wearing for days in the laundry. He ate his favorite meal for breakfast and then went out for a walk. He payed a visit to Lestrade, to see how things were going at New Scotland Yard, wondering if they too were missing Sherlock as much as he was, although he internally laughed at that thought: no one could be missing Sherlock as much as he was.  
He then went to Saint Bart's to say hi to Molly, then came back to the flat and had tea with Mrs. Hudson. They were all so surprised to see him.  
He hadn't been going out much lately so they were happy to see he was finally getting better, or so they thought.  
The most surprised of them all was his sister. He called her after months. The last time they spoke he had just met Sherlock and he was struggling with his sexuality. He thought about sending a text instead, but he really wanted to hear her voice.   
"Hi Harry"   
"Hello little brother. Haven't heard from you in a little while, how've you been?"   
"Good, I guess. How are you?"   
"I'm good thanks. So... what's wrong, why'd you call? You never call unless it's important."   
"Nothing's wrong. I just wanted to hear your voice, that's all."   
"Oh well, that's not weird at all..."   
"I'm serious. I've been through stuff lately and I'm not... well. I truly just wanted to hear your voice"   
"I'm sorry to hear that, and, well, you're talking to me now so... talk away"   
"It's Sherlock, I just love him too much and he lives so far away I just... I don't know what to do."   
"Have you told him yet? About how you feel?"   
"What for? He doesn't care about this kind of stuff, it would just make things awkward between us and I don't want to loose him as a friend, he's the only one I have. Plus, he already knows, he's Sherlock bloody Holmes."   
"Mmh, well... I really don't know what to say little brother, if not that I'm very sorry; I wish there was something I could do to help. You know, things will get better. Maybe you were not meant to be with him and the fact that he lives far away might help you forget him. I mean, how would you even carry on a long-distance relationship? That's a hard thing to do. Think about it."  
"That's not a problem, not for me at least. I want the whole package, all the things that love comes with, even the bad ones. But he doesn't love me Harry, and never will. And I don't know what to do 'cause I love him too much to put him in a situation where he would have to choose. I can't do that to him. This is my fault, it's my fault I fell in love with him, and now I have to pay the bloody consequences."   
"Oh little brother, I wish I could be there to hug you right now. I won't lie, love hurts, but it can also be really amazing, you don't deserve all this pain. I'm really sorry. Don't worry, things will get better."   
"Yeah. Thanks Harry."   
"No problem. Whenever you want"  
"Bye. I love you."   
"I love you too, you dumb creature."

Harry hung up the phone and John carefully laid his on the table beside him. He was sitting on his chair, looking at Sherlock's empty one. His hands were shaking and tears were flooding his eyes. He knew things wouldn't get better. He was at a point where he was *very* much aware that things couldn't possibly get better. Sherlock didn't love him back. Sherlock, in fact, didn't think love was possible at all.  
But John didn't care, he loved him more than he could ever put into words and he decided Sherlock needed to know that, he needed to know that love existed, and it didn't really matter to John that he didn't love him back at this point. All he cared about was letting Sherlock know that he was loved.

He calmed down a bit and got up to get a piece of paper and a pen from his room. He began writing. He chose his words very carefully. After a good 30 minutes he was satisfied with what he had come up with. He knew Sherlock would get the note. He left it there, on his table, next to where he had put his phone before. He spent the following 45 minutes just crying, his sobs the only sound to be heard amongst the faint sirens and car horns of a busy London on a Thursday.  
'Funny', thought John. He had met Sherlock on a Thursday, it wasn't a day much different from this one. It had all started on a Thursday, and it was on a Thursday that it was going to end.

So then, that Thursday morning, you could hear amongst the faint sirens and the car horns of a busy London and the sobs of Doctor John Watson, a gunshot... coming from 221b Baker Street.

That Thursday John took his own life. As Sherlock would say: 'an interesting expression, taking it from whom?'  
John took his life, he took it from Sherlock himself, his best friend, he took it from his family and friends, but most importantly he took it from himself. He deprived himself of the chance of having a happy life, because the thought of living a life where Sherlock Holmes isn't in, wasn't really ideal to John.

On the table, the note that Mrs. Hudson would later find, read: 

_"Dear Sherlock, if you're reading this, it means I'm gone._

_I just wanted to let you know that it was for the best._

_I only did it because I couldn't stand living my life loving you but without being able to love you, and I also couldn't stand living without you._  
_So trust me when I say that this was the best thing for the both of us. I think you already knew but I wanted to make sure you heard it from me, I couldn't die without being a hundred percent sure you knew. I think there's a few recordings left on my phone I always meant to send but never did._

_Anyways, what I'm trying to say is that... I loved you, Sherlock, with all my heart._

_I fell in love with you and I should have let you go then cause it would have been easier but I didn't, and we became friends, and then it was too painful to let you go so I let myself go._

_Sherlock, I loved you._

_Love exists, it's fucking painful but it's also beautiful, and you are beautiful._  
_You are incredibly gorgeous and brilliant and wise and I could go on all day about how much I love you._

_Love exists, but I know for you it doesn't, you can't see it, you don't care._

_I never had a chance with you, so I did what I had to do. I'm sorry for causing you so much pain, I truly am._  
_I hope you'll be able to go on with your life and, maybe, one day, love someone as much as I loved you._

_Goodbye Love, I'll see you in a million Thursdays._  
_XX Your favourite doctor."_

So on that Thursday, just before the bullet entered his skull, John would be taken back to when he met Sherlock, and he would feel relieved upon knowing that he had died letting Sherlock know he was loved.   
Just as he was losing conciousness, he heard the only thing that could have made his soul rest in peace:   
"I loved you too, you idiot".   
He heard those sweet words coming from Sherlock's mouth, and although he knew it wasn't real, although he knew it was all in his head, John was happy anyway, and he finally found peace within himself.

25-26/05/19

**Author's Note:**

> This is a variation of the original story I wrote. 
> 
> I personally prefer this version to the original, which is why I decided to post it.


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